


Go on, tell me I never mattered

by Summertime_saddness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Gen, Malia-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_saddness/pseuds/Summertime_saddness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Malia wishes she was still a coyote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go on, tell me I never mattered

**Author's Note:**

> This not really a story but rather a summary of what I imagine to be Malia's thoughts at various points during her relationship with Stiles. If you hate Malia, don't read it. All mistakes are mine.

When they first kiss it feels like she’s shifting. Not the painful, bones crunching, skin morphing aspect, but the high: the soul lifting, adrenaline rush of pure joy. It sends tiny sparks down her spine and makes her skin feel like it’s on fire; she never wants to stop. She can’t believe she isn’t glowing. He presses her into the dirty couch, the metal springs digging into her spine, the taste of mold and musty papers filling her nose, but she doesn’t care. He’s so warm, warm, warm. He smells like twizzlers, and crunchy leaves, grass in the summer and a little like lightening. Stiles talks too much and there are deep pouches of bruised skin under his eyes, his hands shake when he touches her bare skin and Malia smiles. She smiles and kiss him again, guiding his hands to where some instinctual part of her wants them. Later, when they do it properly in his bed, warm comforter pulled over their naked bodies, hands fisted in his hair, his hands shake again. 

“What?”

Malia’s learning to use her words more now. He had taught her that. That she can’t just growl or push, that humans need language, he can’t smell what’s she’s feeling. He still smells like her favorite part of the woods and the gummy red candy, but anxiety turns it sour. She lets go of his hair, let’s her eyes turn back to brown.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles sighs, running a hand through his hair. It spikes up in every direction, she resists the urge to tug on it.

“I just uh, look, I know it hasn’t been that long and I know you’re probably still overwhelmed with the whole ‘I’m a human again now thing,’ which, I’m sure, part of you still resents me for. With good reason I guess, but did you really want to be a coyote forever? I mean you ate raw meat, and like, never showered, and beds. Oh my God, how about bed--?”

Malia growls then, reaching up to pull at his arm. Hard.

“Ow! Ok, ok, I'm rambling I know.” 

He sighs again, and stares at her. She stares back, she’s naked, but his honey brown eyes stay at her face. He’s still wearing his pants, a fact that makes her claws itch beneath her fingertips. 

“I just...Is this just sex to you? Like, do you just want someone to experiment with? Not that I’m complaining, it’s not like I don’t enjoy this, because I do, a lot. A lot, a lot.” He pauses. Looks at her. She stares back. 

“Um, what do you think? About that?” He’s sweating. He smells horrible. She wrinkles her nose.

“You smell horrible,” she pushes herself up on the bed, her breasts swaying slightly as she pushed him gently in the chest. “I really like how you smell usually. You smell so good, I just want to smell you all the time.” She pauses, words, they are difficult. She looks at him, he has a weird look on his face. She rolls her eyes. 

“You’re my favorite human.” 

He’s kissing her again and this time it’s slow and soft and it makes her feel warm all over and she wonders for a moment if she’s shifting. When he finally is inside of her, he feels like the pull of the moon, pulsing in her body like a beat that lines up with her heart, drumming inside her like a forgotten song. Her eyes are wet when she comes. It confuses her, but he kisses the moisture on her cheeks away and whispers to her things that don’t make sense. How can she be like the sun? Doesn’t he know she’s a creature of the night? 

It’s him that teaches her how to listen to more than a heartbeat, to understand that words aren’t always used for only honesty, that affection is more than just sharing food and sex. They argue about the last part, but he doesn’t complain when she brings him extra curly fries when she sneaks into his room at night. She learns to think before using her claws, that growling doesn’t always work, that sex is better when afterward she has the language to whisper into his skin how good he is to her. When she learns, really learns, what love means she runs into his room, shoving him awake, her eyes flashing blue as he tries to fight her off.

“Hey! Hey, I love you.”

He sits up, confusion makes his face look funny. She laughs at him and he smiles back and soon they are kissing and Malia is wrapped up in him, and he is so warm, warm, warm.

Sometimes Malia wishes she was still a coyote. She had read that phrase in books, seen it in described in movies, or in television shows she tried to watch, in words people said. It never made any sense to her, how can someone be there, but also not? How can someone seem hollow? But now, at night, he doesn’t wake up when she climbs into his bed, he smells a little bit like blood, the metallic taste burning on her tongue. She wants to cut him open, to rip her claws into the deepest part of him, to watch his blood spread across his sheets, just to know for sure that he is real. But he’s always there, and not there. His hands touch her but every touch is empty, every look seems forced. It's like he is underwater, every gesture going through miles and miles of cold ocean to get to her, making her shiver when they finally make impact. Even when she was alone for eight years she never knew how it felt to be lonely. She watches his eyes, gold like the sun, become vacant when he looks at her. They still light up like she remembered at some of them, at Scott, his Dad, Lydia, always Lydia, but she knows now what it means when someone uses silence as a form of communication. He taught her that, he had taught her a lot of things. Malia finds the bite on his shoulder eventually. Later, when they are in the car, he looks at her like she’s a stranger, like she’s the one that’s been slowly disappearing right before her eyes. 

“You knew?” 

Malia’s heart is pounding in her chest, confusion makes her brain feel fuzzy. 

“It didn’t matter to me, that’s why I never said anything.” 

Malia knows what it's like to want to kill, to feel guilty, out of control. She knows how it feels to be accepted, to be forgiven, to be loved. But Stiles just looks at her.

“It matters to me.” 

The door slams behind him, she watches him go, the last piece of him connected to her bends, snaps, breaks. He’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from that fall out boy song you always see on tumblr (Young Volcanoes). Thank you for reading!


End file.
